How do you mount an elephant? It is not, as you might imagine, a conundrum I've often considered, but as I survey the vast acreage of a 3,000-kilogram female at an elephant camp in Phang Nga, Thailand, I realize this is not going to be a walk in the park. In fact, it's supposed to be a 90-minute-long ramble along a dirt and gravel road threading through a rubber plantation a few kilometres inland from Thailand's famous golden beaches in an area of the country far removed from the flooding that has been in the news recently.

A mahout - as the elephant guides are known - makes it look easy, of course. Using the animal's bended knee as a step, he'll swing himself up, Tarzan-like, with a rope. Fortunately, for greenhorns like myself, Sairung Elephant Camp - where half a dozen mahouts squat in the shade of primitive huts, their laundry flapping damply in the humid breeze - provides a wooden platform the approximate height of the elephant, allowing you to step right on to the back of your ride.

My husband, Scott, sensibly ensconces himself on a bench strapped upon the back of our lumbering beast, Boa-Thong (which I believe is Thai for "tiny underwear"), and while it would easily accommodate two, I've decided I want the "real" experience, riding on Boa-Thong's neck. Gingerly, I scoot forward until I'm planted just behind her ears - and instantly regret it. I'm a long way up, and there's nothing to stop me from pitching forward, except my own sweaty palms gripping the animal's forehead, which is firm, spongy and unexpectedly bristly - a bit like a porcupine buttocks (if indeed porcupines have buttocks).

Then we're off, Boa-Thong's shoulders rolling rhythmically beneath me with each step, as our mahout, Leim, follows on foot. Every so often, he pauses to gather Boa-Thong's cannonball-sized dung deposits, using the soles of his plastic flip-flops to fling the droppings into the foliage. (Not for a million dollars would I walk a mile in his shoes - literally or figuratively).

On the left, tall, straight rubber trees line up in orderly rows, tapped low on their trunks to gather sap. On the right, fields stretch out towards a tangled ridge of jungle. It feels like a world lost in time, rooted in some past century, an impression that's reinforced when we approach a humble home topped by a rusted tin roof behind a twig fence.

An old man in a sarong, as lean, dark and knotted as a sapling tree, reclines outside on a bench made of bleached planks, clutching a mobile phone. It's almost as disconcerting as discovering Gilligan punching up Google Maps on his iPad to find his way home.

At the end of the road, we dismount via another tall platform and hike a short way for a gander at a modest waterfall, with a sign in English emphatically, albeit politely, requesting "Please Do Not Swimming!!! (This water for water supply.)" Then we climb back aboard Boa-Thong, with Scott on the elephant's neck and me feeling much more secure in the seat.

Returning to the camp, we reward our leathery steed with small green bananas, which Boa-Thong plucks delicately from our hands with her long, prehensile snout, shovelling them into her mouth peel and all. "Jaew" Thanita Kumphetch, a petite, soft-spoken woman who runs the elephant camp with her father, tells us that the animals eat up to 250 kilograms per day.

Having grown up around elephants, Kumphetch clearly harbours a great affection and respect for them. She recalls the day her grandfather died, and someone had to break the news to his favourite beast.

"The mahout go to talk to the elephant, and the elephant make a noise and he cry, because he know," she says. She worries that, when her father retires in a few years, she'll have to give up the camp, along with the two elephants that her family still owns.

"But if I can't take care of them anymore, I can take them to the king in the north of Thailand," she says, her face brightening. "He has a hospital, free for every elephant." Surgeons at the hospital even designed a prosthetic leg for one unfortunate juvenile, which lost a limb when it stepped on a landmine.

Looking into Bao-Thong's tiny brown eyes, blinking contentedly as she snarfs yet another banana, I'd like to think that one day she'll enjoy a leisurely retirement at the pleasure of the king, knitting afghans, playing canasta, and complaining about arthritis in her trunk.

Amy Laughinghouse is a London, England-based freelance travel writer.

IF YOU GO

Getting there: Fly into Phuket International Airport.

Riding: Sairung Elephant Camp, in Phang Nga (about 90 minutes north of Phuket) can be reached at 089-773-5238 (once in Thailand). A 90-minute ride for two people costs 1500 Thai Baht, or about $48.

Sleeping:

The Sarojin in Phang Nga (about 90 minutes north of Phuket) is the place to come for peace and relaxation, with 56 cottages scattered across 10 acres. Some include their own pool, but many guests prefer to stroll through the bar to the white-sand beach beyond or laze in one of the curtained pavilions that seem to float atop the swimming pool. Rates start at about $215 with minimum two-night stay through Oct. 31.

Farther south, Anantara Phuket, in Phuket, Thailand, features 83 villas, each with a spacious pool, surrounded by tall walls that ensure plenty of privacy, making guests feel like honeymooners whether they've been married for two days or two decades. At night, unwind in the Tree House bar and watch the sunset while sipping a lemon grass martini. Rates from about $340 a night through Oct. 31. See phuket.anantara.com.

Related Posts

Comments

We encourage all readers to share their views on our articles and blog posts. We are committed to maintaining a lively but civil forum for discussion, so we ask you to avoid personal attacks, and please keep your comments relevant and respectful. If you encounter a comment that is abusive, click the "X" in the upper right corner of the comment box to report spam or abuse. We are using Facebook commenting. Visit our FAQ page for more information.

Almost Done!

Postmedia wants to improve your reading experience as well as share the best deals and promotions from our advertisers with you. The information below will be used to optimize the content and make ads across the network more relevant to you. You can always change the information you share with us by editing your profile.

By clicking "Create Account", I hearby grant permission to Postmedia to use my account information to create my account.

I also accept and agree to be bound by Postmedia's Terms and Conditions with respect to my use of the Site and I have read and understand Postmedia's Privacy Statement. I consent to the collection, use, maintenance, and disclosure of my information in accordance with the Postmedia's Privacy Policy.

Postmedia wants to improve your reading experience as well as share the best deals and promotions from our advertisers with you. The information below will be used to optimize the content and make ads across the network more relevant to you. You can always change the information you share with us by editing your profile.

By clicking "Create Account", I hearby grant permission to Postmedia to use my account information to create my account.

I also accept and agree to be bound by Postmedia's Terms and Conditions with respect to my use of the Site and I have read and understand Postmedia's Privacy Statement. I consent to the collection, use, maintenance, and disclosure of my information in accordance with the Postmedia's Privacy Policy.